


A Good Storm

by deadlyfairytale



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Blood Kink, Cannibalism, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:20:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27177130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlyfairytale/pseuds/deadlyfairytale
Summary: Liquid red surrounded Will from all sides, and he opened the windows of his bedroom, to let it all in, to bathe in it, to taste the metal flavoured red, and to open his eyes, and see the beast before him.It was black as ebony in all his majesty, and bloodthirsty, just as much as he was.
Relationships: Bedelia Du Maurier & Hannibal Lecter, Molly Graham & Will Graham, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 12
Kudos: 58





	1. Blood and Macchiato

**Author's Note:**

> I re-watched Hannibal recently and I fell in love with all the characters all over again ¬¬

Will Graham would not count himself in the category of people who believed in the kind of romances straight out of movies, like meeting someone accidentally and falling in love, like it was the easiest of things.  
No, he kind of made some social life decisions as the ones you take in a dream, sort of in that between awake and asleep dream-state, where you think all your cognitive faculties are working for you, but clearly they are not.  
So, at twenty-five, he was working in an alternative coffee shop, owned by an even more alternative lady, to pay for his tuition fees.  
During his free time, he was working on a thesis to earn his master's degree in criminology, while also being engaged to a lovely woman he wasn't in love with.  
Although, as he said, he sort of agreed to marry her in a dream, when she proposed to him, and taken so very much by surprise, he could do nothing else but agree.

Some people had it worse than him, honestly, and he couldn't find it in himself to complain.

The man sitting by the window, though, looked like a character who could have jumped right out of a romance novel cover.  
He was so handsome and poised, and like all those qualities people would fall in love with at first sight. (Not him, though, not him).

He'd been a regular for a few weeks now, and always ordered the same thing: a macchiato, and he would always give Will a pleasantly surprised smile whenever he brought over the small espresso along with the warm milk separately, like he never expected that, like somehow he was constantly exceeding his expectations. 

"Thank you, that's lovely," he said every time.  
Will always gave him a polite smile of circumstance in return, but not that day.

Instead, he answered him with a warm, "My pleasure. I hope you enjoy."

The man lifted up his gaze and gifted him with a smile, "Oh, I will." 

Will, who had never been a fan of eye contact, held his gaze for a split-second.

"Not fond of eye contact, are we?" 

The poised and handsome, romance-cover worthy stranger asked.

"Eyes tell too much."

"And are you scared to find out what my eyes will tell you?"

"Should I be?"

The man seemed to like the answer more than he liked his coffee. 

"Perhaps you should," he said. 

And by saying that, he became an enigma that Will wanted to solve.

In that split-second of eye contact, he had seen the same darkness that stared back at him from the bathroom mirror every morning. 

The owner of the coffee shop, Beverly, told a different story. 

She was smiling at him when he made his way back to the counter, it was the sort of smile you give someone when you're stuck in between two or three emotions, like amusement, pity, and pride, and you are not sure which one to choose. 

"Saw you talking to Count Dracula over there."

"Why do you keep calling him Count Dracula?"

She shrugged, cleaning the mugs with a cloth that should have been put into the washing machine three weeks ago. 

"He gives me that vibe. Like, he's some creepy, pale man with money and with a penchant for blood, and coffee."

"He's never ordered blood."

"Well, of course, we don't serve it." 

"Also, you're cleaning the mugs with the wrong cloth."

"Aw shit, not again. Wash them again for me, will ya?"

"Yeah, sure."

When he finished his macchiato, instead of leaving, the handsome stranger walked up to the counter, and spoke soft like a fairy tale. 

"The sign outside says you can come here for coffee and smiles. May I have a smile, ...please?"

Will did his best not to smile at all, or not to glance at him, but he succumbed and offered him a rare smile.

One that dissolved into an awkward, sort of quiet, laughter which made space to a bitter come back.

"You're weird... and don't you think it's rude to ask people for a smile?"

"I allow myself to be rude at least once a week. And I said to myself, let's not waste it this week."

"Wow," he replied, still bitter and pungent, and without looking him into his eyes, staring only at the now shining mug in his hands. 

The stranger, bemused, looked at Will's ring finger, and did his best not to show distaste at the sight. 

"Your spouse must be a lucky person."

"Oh, I'm not married, this is an engagement ring. My partner's big on gender equality, so we got rings for both of us."

"Then I stand corrected, your betrothed must be a lucky person."

"That's a weird thing to say for two reasons."

"Oh? Enlighten me."

"One, who says betrothed in this modern age? Two, you don't know me. For all you know, I could be a serial killer."

And then, then he felt compelled to look at the expression on the stranger's face. 

One could say that he was evaluating how to best catch his prey, how to sink his teeth into the prey's neck, and taste the sweet, sweet victory.

Will found the answer in his eyes: you could be a serial killer, and they would still be a lucky person, the answer said. 

He didn't give him the time to say that out loud.

Instead, he just continued on. 

"To be honest, I am lucky to have her. She keeps me grounded."

"Well, I'm afraid I have been rude enough for today, and my pupils are waiting, so I shall go... " a glance at his nametag "... Will"

Will swallowed, visibly, audibly, horribly. 

"You're a teacher... ?"

"Yes. Hannibal Lecter. Professor of Forensic Science."

"Oh... I'm actually taking my master's degree in Criminology..."

"Are you? How interesting. Well, let me know if I can be of any help. I would be happy to help you."

Without waiting for Will to refuse or accept his offer, he wrapped his burgundy and navy blue scarf around his neck, and walked towards the door. 

Will stared at his back, until it disappeared into the dozens of people passing by. 

He was caught between two feelings, one he had experienced personally and one he had experienced second-hand when he was watching the news.

The first was that feeling you get when you are out fishing and you can see that something has caught the bait, the excitement, expectation. 

The second was one he thought someone, alone in a war zone, would feel when walking down the streets at night, when suddenly they hear a strike vehicle approaching, and they are not sure if they'll be spared, not sure if they will live to see tomorrow. 

Those were the feelings he was caught between when another familiar face stepped into the coffee shop. 

"Will, you seem distraught. Everything alright?"

"Hi Alana."

"You have become pretty good at avoiding my questions." 

Alana had been Will's friend since high school, and probably the person who knew him best in the world, but even Alana, she didn't know him very well. He was good at hiding within himself. 

The first time they met, she came out to him as bisexual, because she had a crush on the girl sitting next to Will, and well, they kind of sauntered into a comfortable platonic relationship since then on. 

From an outsider's point of view, they acted like a real couple, bantering and teasing included. 

In the year Will had been working at the café, Alana never changed her order once: a simple skinny latte, easy and quick to make.

"It's a skill I'm proud of having mastered."

"Uh huh, where's my latte?"

"There you go," he slid the steaming hot coffee cup over to her, and she carefully slipped it into the carton sleeve.

"So, any news for your old friend? "

"Alana, we've seen each other yesterday morning. Nothing's changed."

From the other side of the counter, Bev whispered, "lying liar who lies", and rolled her eyes.

Mimicking the exact same expression, Will brushed it off. 

"Not lying, Bev, nothing happened."

"You spoke to Count Dracula."

Alana's eyebrows shot up, basically reaching her hairline. 

"Excuse me, who's Count Dracula?"

"No one, Alana," Will was quick to say, but Bev, once again, chimed in. 

"He's like this really handsome man who looks like a rich vampire and who's into our sweet doe eyed boy here."

Alana almost choked on her coffee, and after one or three pats on her back, Will was left with some explaining to do, which he sat her down for, omitting all the emotions that he made him feel.

No one needed to know about those, not even himself.


	2. Bones and Matcha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will meets Hannibal for a cup of Matcha tea.

The second time Will and the professor spoke to each other had been by accident. 

"Will?"

It must be said that Will never looked at where he was going, and much less at the people he met along the way. The more people he avoided, the better. 

However, when he heard a voice calling his name, he glanced up. 

"Oh," he said.

They were in the middle of the campus' hallway. Will was holding a stack of books, so many they almost covered his eyes.  
The other man smiled at him, like he was something worthy of this kind of smiles, which he was not.

"Let me help you with those."

"There's no-" but he couldn't finish, because Count Dracula had already grabbed more than half of the books, effortlessly holding them in his arms. 

"Uh... thanks, you didn't need to."

"I know, but I wanted to. Where to?"

"Uh, the library. I'm returning these... I needed them for my test... which I just took."

"Let me take a wild guess. Judging by the books, anthropology?"

"Yeah..."

"How did it go?"

"The test?"

"Yes, the test."

"Oh, right, sorry. Uh, ...okay? Yeah, I think I did pretty well."

"I'm glad."

"... thank you."

After dropping off the books, Will fought against the strange urge to ask the man to stay and talk to him. Strange, because he also wanted to run away from him at the earliest opportunity. 

The professor looked at him like he could read his mind. 

For this reason, he was not surprised when Mr. Lecter asked, "Would you like to join me for tea? I can prepare some in my office."

"Sure. Why not?"

"Have you ever had Matcha tea?"

"I think so...?"

"The traditional one?"

"... I don't think so?"

Mr. Lecter smiled.

The office was spotless, much like the man himself.

Sat behind a neatly organized desk, Will found himself staring at the man's forearms and hands, busy whisking tea in a bowl with a bamboo whisk. 

"So, Will, tell me. How was your day?" 

He asked, without taking his eyes off the bowl.

"Good," he answered without thinking.  
Then, as if caught in between a storm, like he was also being whisked away in a bowl with a bamboo stick or something, he shifted in his chair, and added, with hands trembling, and voice unsteady.  
"Actually... can I be honest with you?"

"You can always be honest with me. Everything we say here will stay between us. You have my word."

"It's..., I feel like I am suffocating. Every day. I wake up next to my beautiful wife-to-be, and I kiss her good morning. She smiles, I smile, but it's not the same smile. I eat breakfast, I go to work, take my test, then back to work, after maybe study. The same thing, every single day. Sometimes we fuck, and I still feel empty. Lonely."

"Like nobody can see you?"

"Like nobody can see me."

"And what do you imagine yourself doing then?"

"Well, I imagine myself calling a friend, maybe Alana, she's my best friend... calling her, going over to her place just so I can cry my heart out in peace, and be held, be held throughout the night. Then, I remember I haven't cried in years. Nothing feels real." 

Mr. Lecter sat across from him, after a cup of frothy green tea was placed right in front of his trembling hands, and gazed right into his eyes. 

"Have you considered that perhaps nothing feels real because you're hiding the real you from yourself?"

"I have, yes."

"Are you scared of the real you, Will?"

Will chuckled, bitter like the driest amaro. 

"I think I should be."

The predatory smile he got in response made him shiver. 

"When you feel like that, come to me. Call me. I will listen."

"We're not even friends."

"God forbid we socialize and become friendly."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"I think you were coerced into becoming this version of yourself that is not you, by other people. Their expectations guided you here. But I see you, and I would like to coax the real you out of the darkness and into the light," or out of the light, and into the darkness.

"You're not scared."

"I think you will find that you and I have much in common."

When he saw a glimpse of that darkness in him again, he realized why he found himself gravitating towards him, despite his best efforts not to. 

"Okay, fine. You can put your phone number in here, and I'll give you a call. How's that?" 

Will unlocked his phone for him to type in his number.

"Perfect."

"One caveat."

"Anything."

"Don't psychoanalyze me, you won't like it when I'm psychoanalyzed."

He didn't answer, only smiled, and Will took it as an agreement. His smile could have meant 'I wouldn't dream of it' or 'I will love you when I psychoanalyze you'.  
Usually he could read people easily, but not him, not him. There were too many layers.

Later, in the afternoon, he had drinks with Alana in the park opposite the university campus. 

They drank expensive grapefruit juice mixed with cheap Blossom Hill Rosé wine, until it was too dark for them to see anything at all but silhouettes of people passing by. 

In the last days of summer, for the past two years, it was something they had done quite often, talking about serious matters when they became a bit tipsy, and they didn't care of what they let on. 

"So, everything is going well with Molly?"

"Yeah, everything's going well. She's amazing."

"I know, but it doesn't mean that you and her are right for each other."

"Most people aren't right for each other."

"Do you love her?"

"I love her... but I wouldn't say that I'm in love with her..." 

Alana's eyes seemed kind and understanding at those words, and she didn't say anything. Rather, she enjoyed the comfortable silence, and soft breeze.

When the wine was finished, they stood up at once, almost in sync, as though they were the same person, and gathered all the rubbish up. 

Like every other time they did this, she dropped him off at their (his and Molly's) apartment, and kissed him on one cheek, then on the other, very close to his lips.

Will had noticed that she kissed every person she knew in a different way, and she kissed him in an intimate way, like, if they were lovers, but not quite.  
It was her way of showing how much she cared about him, of showing that she felt at her most comfortable with him without saying the words out loud.

Once she had confided to him that she was eighty percent favorable to women instead of men, because most men made her uncomfortable, so if she thought about her future, she would imagine herself with a nice woman, not with a man. 

Men could be an enjoyable pastime sometimes, mostly when she was too drunk to be uncomfortable around them, and Will understood that. 

"See you tomorrow, Will. Sleep well, and say hi to Molly."

"I will. You sleep well too, Alana."

Will and Molly's apartment was not too shabby, especially for what they did for a living (Molly worked as an intern at the local veterinary clinic). 

Despite the low income, their living room and the kitchen were cozy and stylish, adorned with tasteful decorations and art.

The couch was pastel grey and covered in dog hair every day of the week, just as every other surface in the house. 

They had three dogs, one of them still a puppy, so a bit messy all over the place. 

Will kissed each dog with a smile (a genuine one) before looking to Molly, and offering her a facsimile of the same smile, "Hey."

"Hey there, how was your day?" She asked, leaning against the kitchen counter, and whilst stirring a mixed meat stew, which was her first attempt at Eastern European cuisine.

"Not bad, the test went well, so can't complain. How about yours?"

"Yeah, great! We got to save a turtle today, and we had a cute Shih Tzu as a patient, like with the cutest hair and the cutest little barks. You should have seen him."

"Sometimes I am jealous of your job."

"Yeah, well, but when you can't save 'em, it's awful."

Will turned to look at Winston, his beautiful Labrador puppy, and imagined not being able to save him. The thought made his heart sink, and for a tiny moment, he felt something. 

It wasn't something that she was always able to do, but every so often, Molly could read her fiancé's face quite well, and this happened to be one of those times. 

She felt somehow guilty for leading his imagination to the point where he had to experience something akin to pain, so she snapped him out of it with a gentle: "Will, why don't you go take a shower? Dinner will be ready in a minute."

He nodded, dragging his feet to the bathroom, legs heavy like those of a convict about to be hanged. 

In bed, they slept back to back, almost never touching, although not for lack of trying on her part. 

Even after sex, which sometimes felt as though it was a chore or something neither of them really enjoyed, Will had never found the need to lay close to her. 

Some nights, she wouldn't sleep, but just move backwards, by an inch or so every few hours, scared to wake him if she moved too much.  
Once their bodies touched, even a small, small part of them, like a shoulder blade, she would feel comforted and, at the same time, completely drained and destroyed.  
At that point, she would cry herself to sleep, in silence. 

That night Will dreamt of two hyenas hunting together in the moonlight, drenched in black blood, and he came alive in his sleep. He became himself, and he didn't forget the feeling in the morning.

He didn't forget it when Molly reminded him that it was his turn to make breakfast, he didn't forget it when he almost burnt the eggs, he didn't forget it when the warm water washed over him, he didn't forget it.

He couldn't think of anything else.


	3. Gelato al Cappuccino and Blood Vessels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will meets Hannibal for an ice cream.

"Did you set a date for the wedding already?" 

Alana asked one day, in early Autumn, before she even said good morning or how are you.

"I'm doing well, thank you. How are you this fine September morning, Alana?"

"Oh come on, don't ignore my question. You've been engaged for like twenty years."

"We don't want to rush it."

"We or you?"

"I hate your fucking degree in psychology. You are a horrible person."

She pulled an innocent 'oh you know you love me' face at him, as way of response, nothing else, and he sighed at the Pikachu stickers decorating the restaurant's windows. 

It's not that he didn't want to marry her, no, but the guilt of not being in love with her pulled at his heartstrings harder and harder every day, and yeah well, Molly didn't deserve a loveless marriage. 

Molly deserved pretty much all the good things in the world, and he was sure that he wasn't one of them.

There was also the fact that he wanted to feel just like one of the hyenas tearing the flesh apart in the moonlight, like in his dream.   
He had never felt so fulfilled in his whole life.

When they left the restaurant, the crisp and chilly wind met them at the door, and they parted with a warming kiss on the corner of each other's lips. 

Will headed to the morgue, where the lesson on anatomy of the respiratory system would be held, and he immersed himself in his music, as he walked.

Little did he know that a white-gloved, hair-slicked back, and apron-wearing Dr. Lecter would be holding such a lesson, as a substitute for their sick professor. 

At the sight of Will, the Doctor shot him a (maybe beautiful is what a writer would call it) smile, which Will thought was different from the smiles he showed other people, but it might have been his hyperactive imagination. 

Then, when blood sprayed all over his white gloves, Will almost whimpered, but the Doctor caught his eye, and instead of whimpering, he forgot how to breathe.

A drop of blood painted a red, almost invisible, dot on Will's cheek, and the Doctor's eyes returned to that same dot uncountable times over the duration of the lesson. 

After all the students were gone, Will stayed behind to ask Dr. Lecter how he was doing, and if he had time for another therapy session, as he was in dire need of one.

The older man smiled.

"I'll make time for you, Will. Actually, I wanted to tell you about a new gelateria that opened a week ago. The owner is a proper Italian man, and you must try their gelato al cappuccino. It's a true treat for the palate."

The conversation was steering into weird territories. 

"Uh. Okay. I'll... try."

"Would you like to come with me?"

"What? Now, you mean?"

"Yes. We could have a gelato, and talk about your troubles. What do you think?"

Will's eyes were fixated on the now bloody gloves. 

"Yeah, yeah, alright. Sounds like a plan to me."

"Wonderful."

Beyond any doubt, the gelato was too good to be eaten. It tasted like something that could be eaten every day for the rest of someone's life.

"This is really good."

"I'm glad you like it," a pause to lick at the copper coloured spoon, "so tell me, what's troubling you?"

"I had a dream... a few weeks ago. I ... I can't forget how I felt... and everything else... everything has become so, ... so dull."

"What was the dream about?"

"... hyenas."

"Hyenas?"

"Yeah... they were hunting... and I was ...or I became one of them."

"How did it make you feel?"

"Real, like the part of myself I try so hard to hide finally broke free, like I earned my freedom by tearing into some poor innocent animal's throat. It felt... good." 

After admitting that, he cast his eyes down in shame.

"No need to be ashamed, everyone has their primal instincts. We shouldn't be ashamed of our most basic needs, of our true nature."

In that second, something inside Will shifted, and he had to swallow the sudden want (or need) to place the palms of his hands around the doctor's neck, and squeeze, and squeeze, until he would feel his breath become rattling (faint and dying) noises. 

Instead, he only finished his gelato, but Will didn't miss the other man's eyes darkening at the expression his face was wearing. 

"Did you set a date for the wedding?"

"You're the second person to ask me that today. Why is everyone so concerned about it?"

"So I'm assuming you didn't."

"I didn't, no, I mean... we didn't."

"And what does your wife-to-be have to say about that?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing, which ... makes me feel guiltier. She's so patient, and loving. I don't deserve that."

In an incredibly smooth non-sequitur, the Doctor asked him out for dinner. 

"I would like to have you both for dinner, if you wouldn't mind."

"I wouldn't want to impose... Dr. Lect-"

"Please, Hannibal. There's no need to be formal with me."

"I'm your student."

"I was only a substitute for today, therefore technically not my student. So, how about tomorrow evening, at seven?"

"Uh, ... I'll need to ask Molly."

"Please do. And let me know, you have my number."

The unexpected invitation prompted that sort of panic you feel when you know that something horrifying is about to happen and you have no way of stopping it.   
That panic made its home in Will's throat and stomach, and pulled, and pulled at the tender flesh. 

He could do nothing but hold the ice-cold glass against his burning hands. 

Hannibal's fingers trembled ever so slightly, as they rested against the table, in proximity to Will's, as if they wanted to break themselves, just so they could intertwine themselves against them. 

Will's eyelashes were so heavy that he felt forced to close his eyes, just for a little, just for a moment, blinded by the intense panic that he was drowning in. 

Molly, oblivious to his ever growing panic, agreed to the dinner, enthusiastic that her husband-to-be found a new friend other than Alana (not that she didn't like her, no, she loved Alana. If she didn't, well, Will wouldn't have said yes when she proposed to him).

The evening of the dinner date, as soon as he walked into Hannibal's castle-like abode, escorted into the hall by Strauss' Blue Danube Waltz, Will felt in a feverish state.

"You must be Molly," Hannibal said, after inviting them in, and exchanging pleasantries. 

"I am. It's very nice to meet you. Will speaks highly of you."

"Likewise, and I could very well say the same to you."

Will didn't miss Hannibal's sharp intake of breath, along with the narrowing of his eyes, at her giggles, which matched the crescendo of the waltz.

It was the same look of disdain that a panther would give a prey who had barely escaped them, a prey who had left them with a bitter taste of defeat in their mouth. 

"Please take a seat. The food will be served shortly," was the polite comeback, but Will knew, he knew what the other man wanted to say. 

The music from the song "Homo fugit velut umbra" would have been more appropriate, especially the moment when the singer whispers "everyone needs to die, everyone needs to die", and Will took a sharp intake of breath himself, remembering the bottle of wine in his hands. 

"I'm just gonna go give him the wine." 

"Oh yeah, sure. We both completely forgot."

While Molly sat down on one of the king-sized velvet chairs, Will got lost in the haunting maze that was the corridor, and called for the host.

"In here," resounded over the waltz, and the guest followed the music.

Will didn't say anything for minutes, as he stood in the doorway, and took in the painting presenting itself before him: a beautiful man at work in his favourite environment, knowing exactly what to do in the present, knowing exactly what would happen in the imminent future, knowing how to let go of a troubled, horrible, past. 

The room smelled of rosemary and roasted meat, and the younger man closed his eyes, lulled by the low hum of the fridge, and he imagined coming home to this same painting, only to be returned to the more boring reality by the doctor's voice.

"Was there anything that you wanted to ask me, Will?"

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. We brought some wine, this is for you. We weren't sure if you preferred white or red, so we went for a rosé, we hope you like it."

Hannibal took the bottle in his hands, and smiled. 

"It will be perfect for our dinner. Thank you, Will."

"You're welcome," Will said to the buttons of Hannibal's waistcoat, revelling in the way his name sounded when uttered by his lips. 

"Would you help me serve dinner, please? There's one tray too many for my hands."

"Of course."

Will cut into the rare-cooked blood vessels of whatever animal was on his plate, and brought the tender meat up to his lips, feeling intensely watched by the man before him. 

He took his time to let the meat into his mouth, took his time tasting it on his tongue, took his time chewing, and then in an unexpected meeting of their eyes, he said, voice small, and quiet, quiet, almost as though he didn't want his future wife to hear. 

"The meat is delicious."

Hannibal's smile was irritatingly smug, as if the meat was his own.

"I'm glad you are enjoying it. Cooking is a passion of mine, and I'm always happy to share it with other people."

Molly cut the tension with her genuine awe and beautiful smile. 

"You cook way better than me, you need to teach me."

"Gladly."

The two of them toasted to their future cooking lessons, while Will left his own body and observed himself and the other two people in the room from a distance, a safe distance. 

He saw himself smile at them. 

Ghost-Will hands came to rest at real-Will's neck, and cut into his veins, and stared at the blood pour over the dinner table. 

Only when the waltz came to an end, did Ghost-Will disappear, leaving an immaculate table behind, as well as an unharmed neck.


	4. Sharp Teeth and Romanée-Conti Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will meets Hannibal for a glass of expensive wine.

Liquid red surrounded Will from all sides, and he opened the windows of his bedroom, to let it all in, to soak in it, to bathe in it, to taste the metal flavored red, and to open his eyes and see the beast before him.   
The beast was black as ebony in all his majesty, and bloodthirsty, just as much as he was. 

The moment that reality came back to him, Molly was sound asleep next to him, on his bed. 

It was maybe the first time, he couldn't remember, that he had woken her up just so he could sink into her body, and forget everything.

When he stepped into the coffee shop, Bev looked at him, really looked at him, and went: "You had sex, didn't you? You bastard. You look beautiful today."

"Hi Bev, I won't answer that."

"Bastard. Get to work."

As he tied his apron, he felt the need to share the evening before, as one of those things you are so proud of, that you feel the need to tell the world. 

"We had dinner at Hannibal's house last night... Molly and I, I mean."

"Oh my god, did you fuck him?"

"What??! Where did that come from?"

"I mean, one second we're talking about sex, and then you go and say you had dinner at his last night. Did he turn you into a vampire?"

"Fuck's sake, your mind is something else. No, we didn't fuck, and no, he didn't turn me into any mythical creature. We had dinner at his place, that's all."

"Excusatio non petita, accusatio manifesta, babe."

"Don't call me babe, it feels wrong."

The first customer of the day happened to be Will's classmate, who also happened to be the most sought after girl in school, and out and proud lesbian: Margot. 

She always ordered a Vanilla Bean macchiato, with an extra shot of espresso, and skimmed milk (please).

He had never ever spoken to her, and she never tried to make small talk, but today was an exception, or so it seemed. 

"Didn't see in you in class this morning."

"Uh, yeah. I slept in today, and came straight to work."

"Do you need my notes? I can bring you some copies over."

At the unexpected generosity (she certainly wasn't famous for her kindness), he blinked, and waited a few seconds before answering. 

"Sure, that would be great and very kind of you."

She showed him her worthy-of-a-toothpaste-advert teeth when she gave him a 'look what you've got yourself into' smile. 

"On one condition."

"Go on," his eyebrows almost made contact with his hairline.

"Set me up on a date with your friend Alana."

"No way. Alana hates dating, ask her out yourself."

A disappointed "come on" came from the back of the shop, which made Margot smile at least, and not kill him right there for refusing to help her. 

"Well, then. No notes for you."

"I'll manage."

As soon as she was out of sight, Beverly scowled at him, insisting that he was no fun and born in the wrong century. 

In the meantime, Hannibal and Molly bonded over honey and walnut cakes.

"It's the first time I actually baked a cake and didn't fuck it up. Wow, you're a fucking awesome teacher," she laughed, stuffing her face with the sweet and moist cake. 

Hannibal, who up until a few minutes ago would have gladly slit her throat with the rusty handle of a spoon, decided to spare her.

"You and Will seem like a good match," he replied, in another one of his non-sequiturs.

"Yeah, well. I don't know, I mean... I love the guy, but maybe it isn't love, you know. Also, I'm pretty sure he loves me, but I don't think he's in love with me."

"Why do you say that?"

"You see, my whole life I've been trying to constantly prove myself worthy of this... whatever, this life, I guess. I have been told so many times I am ugly, unattractive, unworthy, and so many other hurtful things. There were times when I felt so ugly I thought I couldn't show my face outside, I thought I could never find someone who would even look at me without being disgusted... but I didn't... I didn't let this feeling define me, bring me down. Instead, I decided to spend my life proving people wrong. Wow... I don't know why I just said all this... I'm sorry."

Hannibal covered her hand with his. 

"There's no need to be sorry. It's admirable of you, you are a strong woman, and people are capable of the most appalling things. There are some of them who aren't worthy of this life indeed, but that's not your case."

She nodded then, and felt the knot in her throat loosen, after breathing through it for five or six too many seconds, and she let out horrifying little noises, and hiccups, and warm tears. 

Once she felt like she could speak again, she cut a slice of cake, and carefully placed it into a Tupperware container. 

"Please bring some to Will, if you have time. I need to run to work..."

He accepted the box with his gloved hands. 

"It will be my pleasure."

"Thank you. And I mean, for everything."

"Anytime. And I mean it."

As if the timing had been minutely calculated, Hannibal showed up at Will's café just in time to catch him closing up.

"Molly asked me to drop by."

"Did she? How'd your cooking lesson go?"

"It went well. I brought you a slice of honey and walnut cake."

"Is it edible?"

"Very much so. I tasted it myself."

And if Hannibal's heart gave some signs of still being alive and well at Will's quiet laughter, he didn't need to tell anyone, especially not himself. 

He only hoped that the smile plastered on his face didn't give out any signs of that.

"Alright, then. Let's try it."

"I have some wine at home if you would like to keep me company for a while, and wouldn't mind the drive," and his teeth were so sharp that Will had to notice them, so sharp it would be so easy for them to cut into his skin, and dig themselves deep into his flesh.

With a twitch of his lip, he gave him a silent agreement.   
Rubbing his thumb along his own index fingers to keep his hands from reaching out to the other man, he followed him into the car and hoped the world surrounding them would disappear, if only for a night.

Led into the night by the songs without words by Mendelssohn for most of the drive, they spent it in silence, interrupted by only a few questions in between.

The cork of the wine bottle popped off, making a sound not too far from that of a gunshot.

"This is from the Romanée-Conti reserve, one of the most famous wines in the world. It is quite difficult to maintain such a vineyard, and that is also why it's one of the most expensive ones as well."

"And you're sharing it with me?" With someone like me?

"Yes," he said, as though there was no other possible answer.

After he poured a small glass for both of them, he slid over the plates with a slice of cake made by Molly with love and inexperience. 

They were sitting in what appeared to be a lounge room, filled with paintings over the walls, probably expensive. 

One pictured a lady with a swan attempting cunnilingus or something, which had Will pulling a face, and beside the questionable artwork, there was a striking one, picturing someone desperate over a man's death.   
Will parted his lips in admiration and fear.

"That's the Death of Patroclus by Nikolai Ge."

"Patroclus... the Greek hero?"

"Yes. I'm extremely fond of his and Achilles' story. Not even death could destroy them, not even death could come in between them."

"I forgot most of the story, if I have to be honest. I didn't pay that much attention in my History class."

Hannibal sipped his expensive wine, and continued the story. 

"Well, some historians say they were lovers, some say close friends. Nonetheless, after Patroclus was killed in combat by Hector, Achilles stopped at nothing to find him and kill him with his own hands. After killing many of his enemies, he finally found Hector, and once he had killed him, he dragged his corpse around with his chariot. When Hector's brother, Paris, had his revenge and ended Achilles' life, his bones were reunited with those of his friend, and they were cremated together," another sip of his wine, as he looked to catch a glimpse of the other man's emotions, "and to this day, we still admire them and tell their story."

Will's throat and cheeks were burning. He downed the wine in one go, regretting it almost immediately.

"Uh. That's..." 

He couldn't finish, because he thought the story was beautiful, but he couldn't say it out loud, could he?

But then Hannibal went and finished the sentence for him. 

"Beautiful, don't you think?"

"Yeah... yeah, it is."

"Do you love Molly like that? Would you kill for her?"

He closed his eyes and pictured himself holding Molly's corpse, lifeless and cold, over a pool of red, red blood. 

The realization that he would feel nothing, nothing at all, scared him. 

He would feel other people's sadness, but he would leave his body not to feel his own grieving, not to let the raw pain into his mind and body. He wouldn't kill for her. 

"No. I wouldn't," the words were slow and sharp.

Will started losing control of his reality, everything became blurred. Hannibal's hands, and eyes, and lips fused together in a blur of colors. 

He would ask him to kill someone for him, and he would obey him.

In that fantasy world, he had so much power over him that he couldn't stop the chills on every inch of his skin, and bones, and flesh. 

Will would be the absolute king of that world, he would have complete control, and no matter what he did or said, Hannibal wouldn't crumble, wouldn't break. 

Hannibal would be just as powerful in giving him control, in allowing him to bring his fantasies to reality. 

In that fantasy, Will asked Hannibal: "And would you kill for me?" 

"Yes," was the answer to that and nothing else. 

In the real world, however, when his eyes blinked open to the cold tones of the lounge room, which matched Hannibal's navy blue suit, what he asked was: 

"Would you ever do that? Kill for someone?"

The man in front of him uncrossed his legs, leaned back in his chair, letting the artificial light accentuate the hollow of his cheekbones, their sharpness, letting it cast an ominous light on his eyes, and fueled an unstable man's fantasies with only a few words. 

"I would."

"How?"

"It would depend on the person I'm killing. If it's someone despicable, I would certainly take my time, let them suffer..."

Will's lips went suddenly so dry, so dry, and his voice became hoarse, and low, low. 

"And... how would you kill... me?"

"How would you prefer for me to kill you, Will?"

He thought about that for a mere moment. 

"With your hands," close, closer, on my skin, into my flesh, drenched in my blood.

"Then, I shall kill you with my bare hands."

Will had to swallow the "please" stuck in his throat.

Before he could do anything foolish, his phone saved him and rang in the total silence of the room. 

"It's getting late, I have to go... Molly, uh, she's... she's made dinner... and I...-" 

Every single word seemed to be lost to him, forgotten.

"Of course, I understand. Give her my regards."

"Yeah, sure. Thanks. Have a ... um, a good night."

"Thank you, you too. And sweet dreams, Will." 

It's safe to say that Will had no sweet dreams that night. Only teeth scraping at his skin. Breaking it. Breaking him.


	5. Petits Macarons and Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will attends a Social Dinner at Hannibal's.

Once more, Will woke up power hungry and clammy with sweat.  
He devoured Molly's lips over scrambled eggs on toast, but it wasn't enough, and when he caught the darkness of his eyes in her pupils, he was terrified of himself. 

"What's gotten into you this morning?"

Her fiancé looked past her shoulder, through the window, at their neighbor going outside for the morning walk with their dog. 

"I just felt like kissing you."

Molly laughed, as if she never believed him, not even for a second. 

That morning, Will took the way through the cemetery to go to university, and instead of listening to his playlist, he listened to the wind blow through the graves, and to the imperceptible sound of the falling leaves. 

As he walked past the graves, he imagined their death.  
He thought about how they all had ended up in the same place, despite their deaths being probably quite different.  
Then, he thought of Achilles and Patroclus, who wanted to end up in the same place, and fought for it.

After a lecture on how to take photographs of bodies and blood splatter, Will went straight to work, where he found Bev and Alana deep in conversation, which was never a good sign.

"Hey, puppy boy."

"Puppy boy? What the fuck, Bev."

Alana quietly handed him a burgundy box, with a beautiful yellow silk bow on top.

"What's this?"

At the question, both women gave him an enigmatic look, and it worried him a little. 

"Count Dracula brought it for you. He's asked us to please give it to you, as he didn't have time to wait for you. Vampiric duty calls, I guess..." 

Alana looked it over, examining it like she would one of her patients.

"It looks expensive, I wonder what it is."

Will opened the box in slow motion, took a card out, which he would never have read in Bev and Alana's presence.  
In the box there were eight homemade red velvet macarons with vanilla cream cheese filling. 

Whilst the ladies were busy stuffing their faces with them, he read the small card. 

'I hope you enjoy them. The intense red colour made me think of you. Hannibal L.'

Will had never been more scared of himself. 

With the image of Hannibal's fingers coated in the blood-red velvet coloring stamped in his mind, he texted him a quick thank you.

Hannibal replied that he had a social dinner at his place, and Will and his Molly were more than welcome to join, as well as Will's friends, if he so wished.  
More importantly, Will should go to thank him in person, he added. 

Oh, he hated social gatherings, but he was so hungry for power that he didn't care. 

At exactly twenty past eight, Will with Molly on his arm, and Alana on Bev's arm, showed up at Hannibal's place, and he couldn't have looked more pleased. 

As way of greeting, he placed a hand on Will's shoulder, who almost had to hold his breath in. 

A woman with golden hair and a steel gaze watched them, hiding her smile or grimace (or perhaps total indifference) behind the safety of a champagne flute. 

She later introduced herself as Bedelia, Hannibal's friend (and implied therapist), and straight up told Will she could see why the dear doctor was so interested in him.

"And why is that?" 

"You can see us for who we are."

The doctor's hand came to rest at the small of her back when he joined their (not so) small talk. 

"I see you've met my friend Will, Bedelia."

"Oh, yes," she purred, and Will thought of smashing the whiskey glass in his hands against the wall, so he could use a shard to cut her jugular. All he did was smile.

"I hope she wasn't bothering you, or trying to psychoanalyze you."

"Nothing of the sorts, no."

"I would never dream of that, my dear."

It was evident from the way in which they interacted with each other that they had slept together, evident from the little nuances beneath the surface of their masks. 

He downed his whiskey.

"So, what do you do for a living, Will? Am I allowed to ask this much?"

Will grimaced, running a lazy hand through his hair.

"Ah, yes, but I'm afraid it's nothing interesting. I am a student and I work part-time at a café to support myself..."

"Isn't that admirable, Bedelia?" 

Hannibal added, and Will wished that he had gotten himself a bottle of whiskey instead of a shot, especially when Hannibal excused himself to go talk to another guest, and as a way of excusing himself, he clapped Will on the shoulder. 

Bedelia didn't seem to care.

"Indeed. And what are you studying?"

"Criminology."

"I think you would make a good profiler. God knows how much the FBI needs one, they can't catch anyone lately..."

"How do you know?"

"Oh, sometimes they call me to serve as a special consultant, you see."

"I see... how do you like that?"

"It's interesting, I would say. None of them think like a killer, not to say I do, but if you want to understand someone, you must try to put yourself in their shoes, wouldn't you say?"

"Yeah..."

"So, if you want to profile someone, you need to do just that. It's simple."

At her smile, Will didn't think he could get any more tense, but he was proven wrong when she added, violent and quiet: 

"From what I can see, you are more fascinated by death itself than by the crime. You would make a good agent, Will. That is, if Hannibal doesn't ruin you before that happens."

Molly saved him for certain self-destruction when she strode over with a tray of what looked like tiny vol-au-vents.

"Will, did you try these? They're delicious! I'm gonna ask if I can bring like five trays home."

Will listened to the sound of his own eyes blinking, and forgot where he was for one moment, or for a lifetime. 

When he woke up from the short-lived numbness, Bedelia was gone, and Molly was looking at him expectantly.

He took one small vol-au-vent and offered her a tight smile. 

Social gatherings were suffocating for Will, and after almost two hours, he felt the need to escape to the balcony, with a glass of wine (Alana had forbidden him from drinking any more whiskey).

It was empty apart from him and from the sparse stars on the black sky; empty up until the moment Hannibal joined him. 

"Thought I'd find you here."

Will didn't turn around, but kept his eyes fixated on the dying roses close by.  
They weren't close enough to touch though. 

"I needed some time away from the crowd."

"May I join you?" 

"It's your house, you can do as you please."

"I wouldn't want to disrupt your peace here. After all, you came here to be away from everyone..."

"... you can stay."

Hannibal's smile was so smug that for a moment Will wished for nothing more than to rip it off with his own mouth.

"So, is Bedelia your therapist slash partner?"

"No, she is my therapist slash occasional, well... I believe you would say `fuck buddy`." 

Not really expecting for him to be so blunt, Will ended up spitting his wine from his nose.

"Uh."

"I don't have a partner."

Following the doctor's lead, and in the terrible drunken state that he found himself in, Will said something he would never ever think of, let alone say out loud. 

"I'm not sure why, but I can't imagine someone like you being in love... "

"There are many things that I love."

"What about people?"

"People are a little more difficult to love."

"Yeah, I guess you could say that. Before Molly, I didn't have any relationships ...or felt the need to be in one."

"Why did you start dating her?"

The almost transparent yellow wine reflected the hollow expression on Will's face, as he tilted his head to one side, trying to remember exactly why he had done that.

"I don't know,'' he concluded. 

The day that he brought his dog to the vet and met Molly was locked in a box, and each minute was a piece of a tiny jigsaw puzzle. It was Molly who had asked him if he was doing anything later and if he would have liked to go for a drink. 

The only thing he remembered feeling from that day was how exhausted he was. 

The offer presented him with an opportunity for a change in his boring life and, maybe, it had been without thinking that he had agreed.

"Perhaps you were tired," Hannibal suggested, and Will blinked at the accuracy of it all, letting his shoulder touch the expensive fabric of Hannibal's suit.

"I was, ... I am." 

"What are you tired of, Will?" 

Will loved how his lips looked when they formed his name, but he kept the thought to himself.

"Of pretending to be someone else... but at the same time, I am scared that if I let anybody see the real me, everyone I care about... they will leave."

"Maybe you only need to find someone with whom you can be yourself. That way, you will feel lighter."

"That... seems like a good suggestion, thank you."

It was unclear who was leading whom at that point, but Hannibal felt the urge to take the lead, and spill some half-truths to lure Will into his realm.

"I will tell you something that I haven't even told my therapist."

Will placed the wine aside and gave the man before him his undivided attention, and waited for him to continue.

"I often imagine eating someone and enjoying it."

The younger man blinked. 

"Oh."

The pavement collapsed into a black hole underneath Will's special-occasions shoes. 

"Some people deserve to be slaughtered and eaten because they're nothing more than that, animals for slaughter."

Will's pupils turned pitch black.

The right thing to do would have been to laugh it off, excuse himself, find his way back to his normal self, to Molly, but he didn't. 

Instead, he ran the sweat-heavy palms of his hands down his trousers (also special-occasions ones), and he bit his own lips as hard as he could, as though they were just waiting to be murdered. 

"I'm not sure what to say."

"Did it scare you? Are you going to run away from me?"

"No."

"See? You and I are just alike."

Reluctant to end the conversation there, Will looked into the remotest corners of his brain to find more sins to tell (confess) to his forgiving friend (god). 

His imagination showed him a world where he worshiped this god at the altar, and where it didn't scare him to be standing there completely drenched in blood, where it didn't scare him to show this god what was inside of himself. 

Naked at the altar, Will waited to be baptised and forgiven for all the sins to come, waited to become a god himself.

The violent shivers forced him to close his eyes, pressed shoulders to shoulders with the other god, until Molly and Alana came looking for him (and thank god, not Beverly, who was currently making out with three different people on the expensive velvet couch).

"Hey, there you are!"

Molly brought her fiancé out of his dream-state, but he left part of himself there, and was only half awake.

"There I am," his smile was so fake that Bev would have said it was photoshopped.

"I need to wake up early tomorrow to be at the clinic at six. You mind if we go?"

"Oh, sure... we can..."

"I have a perfectly good guest bedroom, if you and Will would like to stay. You would not impose at all," the doctor offered before his guest could finish the sentence.

Alana raised an eyebrow. 

"What about me?" 

"I only have one guest bedroom, but you're more than welcome to share their bed if they don't mind." 

"Nah, I'll pass. I should go and drag Beverly's ass home before she gets into bed with half of your guests."

Hannibal had the courtesy to chuckle, Will just snorted, muttering 'typical Bev'.

Alana kissed Will Goodbye, gave Molly a (not very tight) hug, and shook Hannibal's hand, before leaving for her mission to rescue the guests from her drunk friend.

In Hannibal's king-sized bed, wearing one of his flannel pajamas five times too big for her, Molly was fast asleep, and snoring a little, while her fiancé stood at the doorstep, talking to their host, and also wearing one of his pajamas. 

"Will, if you need anything, my bedroom is at the end of the hall."

"Thank you. For letting us stay over, I mean." 

"Nonsense. If you have a nightmare, come looking for me. I would love to listen to your dreams, fresh from your agitated state of mind."

"Very funny. Fine, well, I will gladly wake you up and fuck up your sleep, if I have one."

If his lips twitched at the swear word, Will didn't mention anything.

When he felt the professor's lips on his cheek, he might just have forgotten every single word ever invented by humankind, in every single language, but that's all, at least he didn't forget how to breathe this time. 

"Goodnight, my dear Will."

"Fuck," he responded, and the other man laughed, letting him hear the low rumble in his throat.

After reducing Will's vocabulary to one word only, he left for his bedroom, and prayed to all the gods, which he didn't believe in, that his guest would have the worst kind of nightmares, and that he would come running for him, to seek comfort and to destroy himself.


	6. Sweat and The Devil's drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has a day filled with blood.

What Will had that night, in the doctor's bed, wasn't exactly a nightmare.

Transported into a fantasy world, worthy of a Russian fairy tale, where cottages in the woods were painted white by the soft snow, Will stood outside one of them, in the cold.

The tips of his nose and the strands of his hair turned to icicles, and in his hand he carried an ax, bleeding red.

When he looked down at his feet, devoid of mercy and emotion, Hannibal lied there, with his limbs chopped off and a smile full of pride, speckled with his own blood.

"Will, you fill me only with the desire to die slowly beneath your gaze."

Baudelaire, Will thought, maybe in his dream or maybe in real life.

He let go of the ax to sit next to the dying man, and caressed his ice-cold cheeks.

"Will you eat my heart?" The dying man asked.

"With pleasure."

When he woke up, he was drenched in sweat. There were no signs of blood, and no signs of Molly either. 

The clock next to the bed informed him it was almost nine, which meant that she left for work and he missed his class.

Not bothering to shower or to pull on his own clothes, Will hurried downstairs, following the smell of food to the kitchen, where he found the host sitting in his night robe, sipping his coffee and reading a newspaper.

"Why didn't you wake me?"

Hannibal looked up from his newspaper.

"Good morning, Will. You seemed to need the rest, so I didn't. How are you feeling, any signs of a hangover?"

"Uh... yeah. I mean, no. Just a little headache, nothing to worry about." 

Come to think of it, he did need the sleep; he had not been sleeping well lately.

"What would you like for breakfast? Salty or sweet?"

"Oh, it's okay. I can grab something on my w-"

"Please, it's already been made. I prepared both just in case. Moroccan baked eggs if you would prefer something salty, or Strawberry filled red velvet crepes if you feel like something sweet."

"Well, okay. In that case, thank you... I'll go for the eggs"

"That's a relief, because Molly ate almost all the crepes."

"You... woke up that early and made breakfast for Molly?"

"Of course. She asked if she could move in with me."

"Well, I can understand that. I'm afraid my breakfast isn't this good," he laughed, taking a seat opposite Hannibal, who was setting the table for him. 

The ring on his finger judged him from where it lay on the table, for thinking that he would have said the same thing as Molly, and he wouldn't have meant it as a joke.

Waking up every morning to find Hannibal in the kitchen busy with breakfast, and ready to listen to the unstable tales of his mind, ready to be taken apart, ready to take him apart. 

He wouldn't mind being rough with Will, if he asked, he wouldn't mind taking him out of his mind for hours, maybe days, if he said please.

Not paying attention at all to his plate, he (accidentally) cut his finger, when he was meant to cut the egg in half. 

Only flinching slightly, he stared at the droplets of blood in wonder.

"Let me take a look at that."

"Sorry, I wasn't paying attention."

They held hands under running water, but only for the pressure. 

"Keep pressure on it. I'll get some bandages."

"Alright."

For a brief moment, Will thought about cutting himself more, slice himself up so that the professor's hands would be everywhere on him.

Once back with the bandages, Hannibal cradled Will's hand in his, careful, careful, and it was only fair that the guest felt tempted to ask for more, hypnotized by the red on his finger.

"Molly always tells me about how most of her patients try to lick their wounds all the time, it's the animal instinct in them, she says. They need to be careful not to let them when the medicine has already been applied on the wound."

The host did nothing to hide his smile. 

"Saliva is said to have properties that aid healing, so they're not wrong when they want to follow their instincts." 

And what are we if not animals, Will didn't say that out loud.

Without saying the words out loud, he brought his injured finger to the doctor's lips, and pressed and pushed and smeared the blood all over them, until they opened to lick the blood off.

It felt as though he was part of a holy communion, and he watched, transfixed by the beauty and the horror right in front of him, he stared at Hannibal's tongue licking his finger clean, over and over and over. 

"Talking about animals, I should go feed my dogs. They must be starving," he added, without taking his eyes off his finger.

With a parting kiss to the injured finger, Hannibal looked at him and let his hand go. 

"Allow me to drive you."

"Okay."

On his way home, Will texted Bev that he would be late, to which he received a text in response asking if he finally fucked Count Dracula. The text was ignored.

"Do you have work today?"

"Yeah, I told Bev I will be late." 

"How is she feeling? She had a lot to drink last night."

"She's used to it, I'm sure she's fine. She drinks like it's her job. And you? Do you have work to do today?"

"Yes, but the first class is at 12. I will be fine."

"I think Margot is taking your class, isn't she?"

"Miss Verger? Yes, she's a remarkable young lady."

"She likes Alana."

"I see." 

"You don't care about these things, do you?"

"Not particularly, no."

The rest of the drive was silent, and neither of them thought of fingers and lips, and blood, at least not out loud. 

The slogan of the day at Bev's café was "Dance with the Devil this morning, try our Devil's drink", followed by some bits of coffee history, claiming that Pope Clement-something had baptised the drink, once known as the Devil's drink.

"You trying to attract some Satanists this morning, Bev?"

"Why not, as long as they pay."

Her eyes fell on Will's bandaged hand.

"What happened to your hand?"

"Oh. Nothing, I accidentally cut myself."

"Hmm, or is it Count Dracula's blood kink finally showing?"

"Will you ever let it go?"

She only smiled.

For a day that started with blood on his fingers, the trail of blood that led Will to a mutilated corpse, later in the evening, seemed like the perfect closure.

It happened quite casually.

When he stepped outside to throw the trash bags out, he noticed the blood on his Converse shoes, red against dirty white.

At the end of that blind alley, the remains of a wretched man, came into view, exposed and naked as the day he was born, One arm stretched out in front of him, supported only by barbed wire wound around his neck, palm open and up, to hold his own unbeating heart.

The thoracic cavity, robbed of its heart, was filled up with flowers: white, blue, and pink.

Before calling the police, Will stood there for an eternity, and memorized every single detail.

Jack Crawford, the detective in charge of the investigation, had some questions for him. Answering them gave Will the impression that he was walking within a dream, and that he had no idea where he was and where he was supposed to go. Despite the feeling, somehow he managed to walk in the right direction. 

Given the horrific nature of the crime, the special consultant showed up, in her beige trench coat and her white high heels. She stole a glance at Will, and smiled, furtive and almost timid. 

Perhaps, he thought, the security blanket around his shoulders made her react that way, like he needed to be protected. 

He didn't need any protection, he was the same as whoever had done this.

The reactions of other people were peculiar sometimes.

Bev reacted as he thought she would, trying to play detective and to stick her nose where she wasn't supposed to.

Same goes for Molly, who picked him up from the police station and started acting like a worried mother. 

Not that he knew how a worried mother would act from first-hand experience.

Still in his dream-state, he kept repeating that he was fine, fine, fine, but she would have none of it, and so he shouted at her (and he wished he didn't, but he was tired) and shouted, and shouted, asking to be left alone. 

Barefoot as he was, he opened the door and left a discouraged and hurt Molly on their couch. The branches and twigs breaking under his feet didn't even make him flinch, they broke his skin, but not his dream, not his fever, not his hunger for blood.

He became aware of the pain only when he reached his destination, and realized that he walked all the way to Hannibal's house, and he was now drenched in sweat and blood.

Leaving his dream, he knocked on the door, at first quiet, not remembering what time it was, then more insistent until the doors opened, leaving space to a Hannibal in his lavish night attire, "Will, I wasn't expecting you. Are you alright?"

"No," he whispered, and didn't wait for an invitation to come in, he just did, leaving red footsteps all over the place.

"You're bleeding."

"Yes."

"Let me take a look."

"Yes."

The exhausted please died in his throat.


	7. Beneath the lamb's skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Hannibal talk about gods.

His feet were in Hannibal's hands when he started recounting the events of his day, his eyes fixated on his careful fingers, cleaning the wounds, on the immaculate white of the gauze turning light red.

"It must have been frightening."

"On the contrary. I didn't feel scared."

"No?"

"No. I think the killer thought that person deserved to die, and yet, he elevated him to a piece of art."

It was a blink and you miss it, but Hannibal smiled at that.   
"You think it was art?"

"I found it to be quite a beautiful arrangement of a corpse."

"Did you tell the police?"

This time it was Will's turn to smile.

"No, or I would be locked up, either in a cell or in a hospital right now."

Hannibal eased his feet into warm, soft socks.  
"And we don't want that."

"Do you think I am weird for saying all this shit?"

"No. It's refreshing to hear that someone can find beauty where no one else can."

"Not disturbing or morbid?"

"No, not for me."

"Good thing I came here then."

Without taking his hands off Will's ankles, now clothed in fluffy fabric, and resting comfortably against his thigh, he steered the conversation into the direction he wanted, like a seasoned helmsman at the wheel of a sheep in the middle of a tempest. 

"What do you think it meant?" 

"The murder, you mean?" 

"Yes." 

"Oh, I could be mistaken, but it seemed to me like a courtship. From the destruction they caused, they want to gain someone's undying admiration." 

"They are playing God." 

"Isn't god supposed to be a benevolent entity?" 

"There are many gods in the world. Shiva, for example, is simultaneously destroyer and creator." 

"So, they want to become god for someone." 

And what will become of me, Will thought, but didn't voice his concern. 

A quote in Latin stared at him from the coffee table, next to a bottle of Gautier Cognac, 'Pelle sub agnina latitat mens saepe lupina', he read out loud in broken Latin. 

"What does it mean?" 

"Beneath the lamb's skin often lurks a wolf's mind, it's a proverb from Ancient Rome." 

"Ah."  
How appropriate. 

Hannibal's smile appeared to Will as full of blood. 

For the second time that week, Hannibal gave him clothes to sleep in, and showed him to the guest room. Instead of saying good night, Will wanted to bite the doctor's mouth off with his teeth, but he only said:   
"I saw your therapist at the crime scene."

"Bedelia?"

"Unless you have another secret therapist, yeah."

"No, I don't. Did she say anything to you?"

Doing his best 'I don't care' face, he shrugged.   
"She just smiled awkwardly."

"She does that sometimes," one step closer, Will could smell the mint toothpaste, "You seem not to like her." 

"I need to be drunker for this conversation."

"I could arrange that."

"You would take advantage of me like that?"

Hannibal looked pleased, and Will tilted his head to one side to make (imaginary) space for the doctor's mouth just below his jawbone. The words that Bedelia uttered with hatred the first time they met, came back to his mind with insistence, 'That is if he doesn't ruin you', but Will was not planning on being quietly devoured.   
No, she didn't know that Will was also a terrible thing, a terrible god.

His hands, pale in comparison to the delicate brown of the other man's night robe, found themselves gripping at the expensive fabric, tight, tight as if their owner's life depended on it. 

They grasped at his shoulder and at his arm, and he wasn't drunk enough for a conversation, but he was unafraid enough to pull him into the guest room completely and shut the door behind them.

"I am in the midst of a nightmare," he whispered, as explanation (or excuse) for his actions.

"And I wouldn't want you to be alone in the midst of a nightmare."   
Hannibal was happy to oblige and surrender and prostrate himself on the floor of the room, in reverence. 

For some reason, while standing unbearably close to the professor, he remembered the events of one autumn night, when in a bar with his classmates, he found himself sitting next to a girl he knew only by name.   
He hadn't spoken to her much, but he knew that she liked him.   
The poor girl had gotten so drunk to muster all the courage she could, to confess her feelings to a distraught Will.   
Instead of rejecting her, he attempted to kiss her, he even thought to fuck her, so she could have something, anything, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. 

When he looked into her eyes, just as they were about to kiss, he turned his face away.

He hated that he could see affection in her eyes. He hated that she thought he was a good person. He hated that she didn't know him all that well, but she had this fake persona of him wandering around her mind, and reciprocating her feelings in an alternate world.

So, that day, he left the bar, only repeating sorry, sorry, sorry, and he never spoke to her again. 

He remembered seeing her at school weeks after the unfortunate evening, sitting in silence and keeping to herself. 

And now there he was, with a similar expression to the one that she was wearing that day, only darker, hungrier. Reflected into the pupils of the man standing before him, the only thing he saw was a wolf, with a growl stuck in his throat.

"How long do you think this nightmare will last for?"

"Oh, all night long, I am afraid."

Just what I hoped for, Hannibal's eyes seemed to say.


	8. La petite mort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will shares a nightmare with Hannibal.

It was cold and broken and quiet, the miserere hymn that Will played in the tranquility of his mind when he saw the darkness of his eyes reflected in the monster's. The monster mirrored his posture, and his hunger, and his everything. 

He had never understood the beautiful brokenness of the song, not until the moment when Hannibal lifted a hand to his damp face and ran a thumb over his cheekbone, gentle and soft. Then, he felt a newly found faith for a blasphemous God.

Starved as he was, he closed his eyes at the touch, aware of his eyelashes on his skin and of the silence surrounding them. The absence of sound was deafening; outside, the leaves falling suddenly became quiet. 

It was silent for hours, and hours, and hours, until the professor spoke, slow as a painful death.

"Tell me about the nightmare you're having."

Will sent the ghost version of himself deep into the labyrinth of his mind to search for the nightmare creatures, and responded with the quietest of voices.  
"I am alone, and bleeding, perhaps I am in a forest or somewhere desolate, devoid of civilization for miles ahead. Someone has made a wooden throne just for me to sit on, and I leave traces of blood all over the polished wood. I am tired, heavy..."

"You are not alone, not anymore. I am there, with you. Standing at the feet of your throne."

"I can see you. You are with me."

"I've brought you a gift. Something fit for a king."

"A prey. Someone you have killed just for me, someone I have wanted dead for a long time," and he didn't realize that his breathing had become shallow, and labored.

The monster followed suit, with a matching rhythm. "I tore their heart out with my bare hands for you, and I offer it to you on a golden platter."

Will swallowed. "I really need to bite into the flesh... don't I?"

"You do."  
The command was just a whisper, but it did do the job of sending Will over the edge, it did push him to throw all the common sense he had out of the window, and kiss Hannibal.

For a first kiss, it wasn't sweet at all, or careful, no, it was as violent as their fantasy, and he would have ripped his bottom lip right off if the professor didn't grab his face with both hands to ground him, to bring him back to the real world.

The real world wasn't all too welcoming. It came with memories of a lifetime that he had forgotten living, with memories of Molly who didn't deserve to be hurt.

"What am I doing?"

"You are having a nightmare, that's all."

"Yes," he only said, but Hannibal's lips were wet and red. The urge to tear him apart further was stronger than the guilt.

"Keep talking, how does the story continue? How did you like the taste of that raw flesh?"

"It's ... sublime."  
He closed his eyes, so that the world would disappear again, and so that only Hannibal would follow him into the nightmarish visions.

"Do you want more?"

"Please."

He didn't wait for Hannibal to grant his request. Instead, he reached for his face and brought his lips to meet his again, once more violent like a hurricane.

When one finished into the other, and the other began where the other ended, Will spared a glance at the mirrors around the room. One of them, oval shaped, framed with golden embellishments, stood above the mahogany desk. It cast back a Renaissance painting, in which a woman carried the head of a man on a silver platter. The regal look of disdain and satisfaction on her face made it all the more stunning, and seemed to remind whoever set foot into the room that all are born to die. From the second one begins to breath, Death follows them close by, each day one step closer.  
Looking directly into the pristine glass, he saw himself, with hands clasped in prayer behind Hannibal's head, and eyes full of grotesque images of the beast he often met in his nightmares, coming right at him.  
Another mirror, elegantly framed by black marble, looked at the sinful scene from above, like a god casting judgment on his children. Eager to defy any judgment, he dug into Hannibal's wing-shaped shoulder blades, and drew blood.  
"Let me taste your blood."

With a pleased smile, and features which were becoming a blur of colors in Will's vision, he indulged him.  
"Take all of it, until there is none left." 

He brought his hands smeared with blood up to his mouth, and savored (devoured) every drop, never breaking eye contact.  
At the sight, Hannibal gripped his neck and turned him over, pressing his cheek against the pillow, with such force, that it made Will's head spin, and forced the sigh frozen in his throat to escape.  
"Please, make me forget that the world is real. Lead me back into the nightmare." 

More beast than human, Hannibal breathed the response into the ear of a restless Will.  
"I will give you such an exquisite petite mort that you will want to be in Epiales' grasp forever." 

"Petite mort?" 

"It's what the French call an orgasm, it means 'little death'." 

"Oh." 

The reflection of himself was boring into his soul, as his mouth contorted in the most terrifyingly beautiful ways, to let words of praise and faith for a monster out in the night, or to let the monster breath them right into his body. The bruises forming on the side of his neck bloomed red, like carnations against soft snow, and he thought he should also mark the beast as his own, but another time, in another nightmare, as he began to feel so weary that he wished for nothing more but to be led into a short, little death.

The feeling must have been what baptism feels like to a devout follower.


	9. Post Tenebras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will meets his real self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry I haven't updated in a while! Personal life and work have been a bit tough recently-- but I started to write again and I hope to finish this story soon.

After the darkness, the persistent morning light brightened the room, through the gaps in between the heavy burgundy curtains.

An intense panic startled Will awake, whose eyes were met with the sight of a resting Hannibal, no longer a beast, with smudges of blood on his lips.  
Overcome by a strange sense of familiarity, he traced the blood on the delicate skin with his fingers, and only then, guilt resurfaced.

The night before became a distant dream, like an opium-induced fantasy, and he began to doubt its reality.

The clock told him it was five in the morning, so he could leave quietly, and pretend that it never happened.  
Whilst he scanned the room for his clothes, scattered in every possible direction (Hannibal's night robe's belt hanged from the crystal chandelier), the professor opened his eyes, and stopped him in his thoughts.

"If you are thinking of leaving, you are forgetting that you came here barefooted."

Terrified by the fact that they were both awake at the same time, Will attempted a response, but failed.

"Oh."

"Permit me to suggest a homemade breakfast and a drive home."

The tone of his voice hinted at complete submissiveness, which pushed Will back to what he thought was an opium-induced world.

"Well, when you say it so politely, how could I refuse?"

Slow as the words he just uttered, he reached for Hannibal's hair, and pulled, until they were close enough for their noses to touch.

"Will you require anything else of me?"

"Yes."

"What would that be?"

"It's only fair that I give you a gift as well," he said, bringing his hands to the bruises on his own neck.

Hannibal's lips blossomed into a lopsided smile, full of pride for the mercilessness in the eyes of his guest.

"I'm not opposed to that."

"Somewhere everyone can see."

"Anywhere."

Will's teeth, sharp as they had never been, dug into the skin covering his left cheekbone, until they almost tore it off.

Hannibal grabbed the back of his head and pushed his teeth further into his flesh, as though he was inviting him to feast on it.

"Are you satisfied, or would you like to consume me for breakfast?"

"Don't tempt me," he whispered, with a mouthful of blood, tucking his head into the crook of his neck.

The phone on the nightstand suddenly rang, shattering the beastly world.

Without letting go of Will, Hannibal answered, only to hear a frightened Molly on the other end of the line.

"Molly, what can I do for you?"

At the name, the man in his arms stiffened, and listened intently to the conversation.

"No, he has not contacted me, or I would have let you know, of course. Have you tried his manager, or Alana?"

"I see. Well, consider me at your disposal. I will endeavour to find him and bring him back to you."

"Your future wife is worried to death; she begged me to help find you and bring you home."

"Is she? And yet, you lied to her."

"Would you have preferred for me to tell the truth?"

"What is the truth?"

"That you are busy consuming my flesh."

Somehow amused by the absurdity of this truth, Will burst out laughing.

Unfazed by his own madness and darkness, and struck by a desire to gaze intently into Hannibal's eyes, he finally met his real self, who slowly slipped out of his body and into another world.

In the real world, Molly waited impatiently, sat by the stairs at the entrance of their apartment building, with one of their beloved dogs, which snuggled up to her, trying to take the sadness away from her.

The time was approaching what Bev called "Brunch o'clock", or anytime between 12 and 16, and Molly's heart skipped a beat when Hannibal's black Bentley stopped in front of her.

Will stepped out, with borrowed fluffy socks and a borrowed blue scarf to cover the state of his neck.  
Their hug made him feel nothing; the old Will would have felt terrible.

"I'm so sorry, Will."

"No, I'm the one who should apologize," the words sounded fake, rehearsed, and his future wife looked up at him, alarmed.

"Are you okay? Where have you been?"

"I don't know."

"I found him in the park. In a dreadful state, I must say; he was shivering. Fortunately, I carry with me spare socks," Hannibal supplied, helpful as always, as he came to stand by Will's side, who stared at him with the look someone would wear when in the presence of a centuries old fresco for the first time.

"Oh my god, Will! What would have happened if he didn't find you?!"

"Indeed," Hannibal smiled. The smile almost reached the band-aid on his face he used to cover Will's gift.

"What happened to your face?"

"Oh, this? It's an embarrassing story, I'd rather not say."

"He tried to domesticate a wild cat that was keeping me company in the park."

Will added, barely containing a smile, and deliberately gazing into the professor's eyes.

"Yes. I shouldn't have been so forceful."

"Or maybe you needed to be more forceful."

"Will, let's go inside. You must be tired," Molly cut in, confused by the strange conversation that she was not allowed to be part of.

"Terribly," Will said.

The following morning, the dawn colored itself in light pink hues, giving the impression that thousands of medusas were swimming through its soft waves.  
The version of Will who showed up for work was different to what Bev grew accustomed to, there was a certain hint of arrogance and self-assuredness that she had never seen before.  
To note were also the finger-shaped bruises adorning his neck like a crown.

“What happened to you over the weekend?”

“Are you referring to my night out in the park?”

“Ohh, kinky.”

“I was dissociating, Bev. There’s nothing kinky about that.”

“I smell lies.”

“You always do.”

“So, you don’t remember why your neck looks like someone choked you?”

“No.”

On his lunch break, he thought of visiting the professor, so he made his way towards his office, only to be greeted with an unpleasant sight.  
Another student sat opposite Hannibal, conversing with him.

“Am I interrupting?” Will asked.

The student turned around, and offered him a good-natured smile. “I was just telling professor Lecter about my friend Tobias, I’m worried-”

“Franklyn was on his way out, Will,” Professor Lecter cut in, eyes now only focused on Will’s neck.

The student protested, “...but..”

“I wouldn’t want you to hold up the candle, Franklyn. Mister Graham and I have something to discuss.”

The reference was lost on Franklyn, who hurried out of the office, with tears in his eyes, and a heavy heart.

“What was that all about?” Will asked, taking a seat.

“He has chosen me as his confidant, he seems to have trouble with a friend of his.”

“Ah. It would be a shame if he disappeared.”  
Will added, as casually as he could, watching the fellow student leave in a haste.


	10. Facilis descensus Averno

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will wants to slip away into another world.

Pierced by a hundred arrows at once, he lay, bleeding, in a field of beautiful poppies. Like a Greek hero, unafraid of death, he hoped to be immortalised in an oil painting, or in a marble sculpture, and reached for a flower, with the certainty that it would be the last scent he would inhale, before descending into the underworld.

"Will, you're hurting me."

The flower he had reached for was a strand of Molly's hair. The tone of her voice, helpless as he had never heard before, woke him up from the stupor he had succumbed to.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what's gotten into me."

With the knowledge that he was slipping away from her, and perhaps from the world, she kept quiet; undecided between telling him that he should see a doctor and telling him that he should not worry.

She was scared to take the decision on her own; so, she waited for him to leave for his classes, and then she made (the mistake) up her mind to call Hannibal and ask if he was free for a chat (in the best interest of Will's wellbeing).

At the gates of the campus, Will found himself face to face with Bedelia, who, again, smiled at him awkwardly.  
"Hello, Will."

"Hi?"

The thought of her being there for Hannibal unnerved him, so he rushed past her.

"Wait! I would like to enlist your help."

"Excuse me?"

"Come with me, you'll see."

"My help with what?"

"You don't trust me, that's sensible," she said, mostly to herself, and seemed to be pleased with the way Will acted towards her. "Hannibal praised you profusely; he is certain that you will make a talented profiler. I simply would like to test your talent."

"How?"

"You can help me read a crime scene."

The crime scene happened to be on an actual stage.

Despite the initial grumpiness at being cleared as Bedelia's trainee to be able to even take a step inside, he stood (in awe) in horror at the sight.

Will closed his eyes, and swapped places with the killer.

An off-key Cello note struck him by surprise, and Will found himself with his hands soaked with blood. A violin neck had been pushed into the dead man's throat, through his mouth, effectively turning him into an instrument.

Will's heartbeat matched the cello's notes; the killer wanted to create music so magnificent that no sound in the world would be able to emulate it.

Of this, he was sure.

"He's a musician. Probably a violin stringer," he said to Bedelia, who did nothing else, besides observing him.

"I know."

"Then, what did you need me for?"

"I have explained my reasons to you. Did you expect me to praise you?"

"No."

"No," Hannibal said in response to Molly asking if he thought Will was acting strange, ever since that night.

"I'm worried about him, I think he needs to be seen by a doctor, a specialist..."

"I know a good therapist. Perhaps it would be an option worth exploring."

"Do you think so? Will hates therapists, though. How are you going to convince him?"

"Leave it with me."

"The lyre is made out of polished bones, I work at sanding their rough surface, until it's exquisitely smooth, and the skin can revel in its sophisticated stone feel," Will confessed in a dream, and the gods, who were his audience, rejoiced.

One of the gods stepped forward, his face was hidden by a mess of lights, blinding. The voice, however, he recognized as Hannibal's.  
"The sound-chest is ready; now it's time to prepare the strings."

Will noticed the pool of blood at the god's feet, hypnotized by the drops falling rhythmically from the outstretched hands.

"Are those for me?"

In response, the god knelt down, and offered the intestines, held in his hands like a treasure, to Will.  
He didn't utter a word, so Will inched closer, and grasped them: "They are still warm."

"The more recent the slaughter, the better the sound will be. It will be divine."

The gods cheered.

"Are you daydreaming?" Bedelia cut in, eyes inquisitive and wary.

"No, I was thinking."

"About what?"

"Achilles."

"Seems like a peculiar subject to think about when you are staring into the throat of a murdered man."

"Perhaps," he responded, eyes glued to her abdomen, and filled with thoughts of how easy it would be to overpower her and tear out her guts.

Overwhelmed by a sense of crushing fear and anxiety, Will made his way outside, and closed his eyes.  
The painting of Achilles playing the lyre in his tent, whilst Patroclus watched him, replaced those gruesome images.  
It sat above the fireplace, in Hannibal's living room; and he wished he could be there, safe, and free to let his violent fantasies live outside of his dreams.

"I'll drive you home," the therapist offered, walking up to him.

The sound of the heels against the cement made Will's heartbeat quicken.

"No, Alana is on her way," it was a necessary lie.  
After a couple of minutes, certain Bedelia had left, and was far away, he called Alana to come and rescue him (from himself).

The worst thing was that she could read him (almost like an open book), and he didn't need to say much for her to understand him. It would have been so easy to say "I'm losing myself, please help me."

Instead, he told her about Margot Verger, insisted she should give her a chance, to the point that he found himself annoying, to the point that he couldn't recognize himself any more.

Anything to forget that out there existed a world where he and Hannibal were intimate, where he delighted in the pain, in the blood, in the sharp teeth sinking into his flesh.

Anything to forget how easy it was to fall into that world.

"Stop. I just remembered Molly gave me something for Hannibal, please drive me to his place," he said.

Alana, exasperated by Will's behaviour and by his insistence on the perks of going out with Margot, braked aggressively, and sped towards Hannibal's house.

"I wasn't expecting you, Will."

"I saw another dead body today."

The notes of 'The Devil's Trill' by Tartini led Will inside.


End file.
